Moving On
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Napoleon reflects about his life as they prepares to move from his penthouse to live with his kids. A Mouth of Babes story


Napoleon held the elevator door as the movers worked the last load of boxes and his favorite recliner into the seemingly too-small space.

"Okay, let them go," one of the movers said, grunting as he repositioned the hand truck he was using.

Napoleon obliged and watched the doors close with only an inch to spare. It was truly amazing how much stuff you accumulated in a lifetime.

He walked back to the penthouse and paused by the door. When he'd walked through it the first time, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. He couldn't believe Amy's generosity in purchasing the penthouse for him, his first true home.

"There's an extra charge for woolgathering," Illya said as he exited the bedroom.

_No, his first true house. It hadn't become a home until Illya moved in,_ Napoleon corrected mentally. "Can't help it. I spent some pretty good years here and tomorrow it will belong to someone else. End of an era and all of that."

"It's not too late to change your mind, Napoleon." Illya shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Napoleon knew he was in pain and trying not to show it. For his part, Napoleon remained silent, looking the other way when Illya grimaced and playing dumb at the soft grunts and muffled groans. He knew he needed to let Illya do what he had to do. Illya needed to feel a part of this move.

"I'm just glad they will be doing the hauling up the stairs. Even with leaving so much of the furniture behind, I'm amazed at how much stuff we have."

"You have. All my possessions fit in three boxes, excluding the books."

"And I overheard one of the movers ask if the company had hernia insurance."

"You're joking…"

"Possibly, but you will never know."

"Napoleon, you never change." Illya shook his head and moved past him, limping just a little. "Are you coming?"

"I just want to take one last look to make sure we haven't left anything."

"All right, I'll be in the car waiting for you."

Napoleon waited until the elevator doors opened and closed again, taking his partner away, before he stepped back into the penthouse. He resisted heading straight for the security system. It had been removed this morning, along with any monitoring devices the place still had. They didn't work, thanks to Illya's tinkering, but they were still UNCLE property.

He walked over to a wall and touched it. There was a bullet hole in it right about there, but it had been patched and carefully painted over, an attempted assassination when Napoleon became the head of Section Two. He couldn't help but wonder where those two THRUSH agents were now or if they were even still alive. THRUSH didn't handle the failures of its agents well.

Napoleon walked down the short hall and looked into the guest room. It was bare now, except for the curtains. He remembered the day they'd moved Illya in. He was still recovering from hip surgery, the latest of several. Napoleon knew his partner chafed under the watchful eye of Medical, but he also knew Illya wasn't ready for life on his own, no matter what he thought. It had been a good compromise.

While things were a little rocky at first, they gradually settled into a comfortable routine. Napoleon made sure Illya did his physical therapy and, in turn, Illya provided Napoleon with a sounding board. He didn't have to worry that Illya would find his concerns foolish or childish as Napoleon struggled through the first year as Section One Number One. And Illya knew Napoleon didn't see him as weak or incapable when Illya had to resort to his cane or leg brace. Two old work horses that understood each other…

"Grampy?"

Napoleon looked over his shoulder and down at the young boy, and an even younger girl holding his hand. "Alex, what are you and Irina doing here?"

"Poppy sent us on a re… recog… recon…"

"Reconnaissance? "

"Uh huh, mission. Our duty is to bring you back before your bodyguard dies of old age."

"That sounds like your Poppy." Napoleon laughed as he bent to pick up his granddaughter. "Oof, Irina, you are getting heavy."

"Uh, huh, I'm a big girl now." She put her arms around her grandfather's neck and hugged. "You're scratchy."

Napoleon reached up and felt his whiskers. "Well, so I am. Guess the first rule of the day will be to shave once we get home."

"You and Poppy are really gonna live with us now, now and forever?" Alex asked, staring at the large empty room just beyond them.

"That's the plan."

"That's neat!" Alex started back towards the front door and turned. For an instant, Napoleon saw what he thought Illya must have looked like as a child: eager, hair tousled, ready for anything life might toss his way and glad to have it.

"I think so, too, Alex."

"Let's go," Irina urged, wiggling his arms. "Faster!"

Alex grabbed Napoleon's free hand and tugged. "Let's go home, Grampy."

"Lead on, MacDuff."

"Grampy?"

The soft voice jostled him out of sleep and Napoleon blinked and tried to focus. There was just enough light coming from the window for him to recognize his grandson.

"Alex? Shh, don't wake up Poppy."

"He's already awake," Illya grumbled from his side of the bed. They had been too tired to set up both beds that night and had wearily crawled into one about ten minutes earlier, or so it seemed. The nightstand light clicked on and Napoleon realized it wasn't just Alex, but a worried looking Irina as well.

What's wrong?" Napoleon propped himself up on his elbows.

"I think there's a Martian in my closet. He's eating my crayons."

"And in mine, biting the heads off my dolls." Irina sounded about five second away from a full-on wail.

"I can almost assure you that there are no Martians in either of your closets," Illya muttered.

"Can we sleep here with you?"

"Pease?" Irina looked fearfully at their closet door.

Napoleon sighed and flipped back the sheets. "Only if you both promise to go straight to sleep and not wiggle."

"I slept with my brothers and sisters growing up. Let me assure you it's not how it works, Napoleon." Illya clicked off the lights and for a moment there was some jockeying for position.

Eventually, both children settled down and Napoleon felt a soft kiss to his cheek. "Tank you, Sweet Prince." Irina whispered.

"Hey, if he's your prince, what does that make me?" Illya protested. There was a rustling of bedclothes, movement of the bed, and a sudden giggle. Napoleon knew she'd gone to Illya's side.

"My knight in shining armor."

"I guess I can live with that."

Napoleon stared up at the ceiling as sighs and squirming gave way to deep, even breathing and calmness. In the morning, there would be chaos, crying babies, toys everywhere and an apartment to put into order, providing the world permitted either of them the chance. And Napoleon decided he'd been wrong before. The penthouse had just been a stepping stone, for his heart and everything he loved was right here and that very truly meant he was home.


End file.
